Death Becomes Her
by Robert Modean
Summary: A slighty overwrought take on the Christmas Day followign the Horror that was 2.11, It's all sorts angsty with a creamy CHARAH finish. Forgive the florid prose, I do believe I was still a tad inebriated when I wrote this.


Disclaimer: Unfortunately I don't own nor am I involved with the production of Chuck. On the plus side, I work cheap so if Chris or Josh is reading this - call me.

Synopsis: Several people have written one shots regarding what my fellow CHARAH shipper **fAteD lOvE****lf** refers to as THE EPISODE (2.11), or as I like to call it THE HORROR. Anyway I've read some pretty Angsty stuff and for some reason, maybe the holiday blahs, this came to me and I thought, what the hell. It's a little rough, but I'm happy enough with it. Excuse the wordiness, when I get morose I tend to become a tad florid. Personally I blame my parental units - my mother was a hamster and my father smelled of elderberries.

_A/N: Death imagery, not to be read while drinking heavily, listening to delta blues, or reading early 19__th__ century romantic novels. Oddly enough three things I was doing when I conceived this._

**Death Becomes Her**

* * *

Despite the seeming commonness of my life, death is no stranger to me and yet it was the passing of one particular person I mourned this Christmas day. We lay upon the couch, ensconced in counterfeit familiarity. Sarah arrayed in my cast offs, comfortable cotton lounge pants turned up at the cuffs and a Stanford T-shirt, was nestled within my arms and resting her head upon my breast. The fake fire served as the perfect accompaniment to our relationship which was a simulacrum of honest love. Twilight Zone was on the TV, and yet the shows paled in comparison to the life I lead, and so it held no interest for me. Instead I studied the angel in my arms as she lay comfortably in repose, her eyes closed in the sweetness of slumber, and the rhythm of her heart and the steadiness of her breathing held me spellbound.

My mind drifted back to the previous night at Buy More, the appearance of Fulcrum, the danger to my friends, the threat to my sister, and I was to blame for all of that. True I understood that was not the case, but in my heart I knew, I knew. My eyes traveled over her sleeping form, as perfect as she's always looked, not a hair out of place, not a nail chipped, as angelic as any creature of earth could be was my Sarah. And yet my eyes returned to their task again, inventorying every aspect of her visage for any tell-tale sign that within my arms lay not an earth bound angel, but death incarnate. For she is no stranger to death, this angel within my arms, she has killed many times and in the service of many masters, but the things she killed last night, and the reasons for claiming those lives, that is a toll only I can pay.

*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*

I observe again the horror that is my love,.

And recall the passing of my innocence with a certain clarity.

It was on Christ's eve when Abbadon first appeared before me,

her raiment belied her station, it's coarseness warred upon her beauty.

Unrepentant yet in supplication did the wicked stand before her,

And for the briefest moment did Abbadon, death's journey delay.

"So take me in, Agent Walker" The wicked spoke the words that I still curse,

the words that haunt me for they mark the passing of my innocence.

Then with terrible vengeance did Abbadon strike,

and soft thunder tore the wicked heart asunder.

In deaths repose he lay, wicked no more, returned to clay.

But Abbadon's strength was unconstrained,

And more than one heart it killed that day.

Though my own still beats within my breast,

I fear the love that lay within it has long since passed.

*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*

My wants and wonts are at war with this new reality, and beside me lays the instrument that has claimed my innocence. She stirs and my sense reel, I can feel her slightest movement in the core of my being. An angelic countenance before me, sleep weighted eyes seek purchase on my soul, the music that is her voice reaches me.

"Is everything okay?" So sweetly she smiles up at me, the rapt expression, the radiant locks of gold, her angelic guise complete.

"It's ok, I'm just thinking about yesterday, about what happened, and what could have happened." I see myself within her eyes, cerulean pools that smolder with intensity, and love is reflected back at me. But the question is begged of me, can one love the destroyer of life?

"Chuck, I will never let anyone hurt you. You have my promise."

And with those words her arms seize me and the strength of her grasp alarms me, I feel the heat of her lips on mine and at once wonder at the creature before me. Death is imagined as cold and implacable, yet within my arms it feels warm and willing. The scent of death was ne'er so sweet, the feeling of it ne'er so wondrous. There is a spark within my heart, my passion for death has brought forth new life. Like the phoenix, love rises from the ashes of my soul, and I return her kiss with renewed vigor. For seconds, for an eternity, how long we remain locked thus I cannot tell for time is meaningless and far too short within death's embrace. When at last we must separate it is the flush of her cheeks, the light within her eyes, the smile graced upon her full, luscious lips, that are the chorus of our love.

Music again accosts my ears, "I love you, you know?"

These are the words my heart has waited to hear all my life, and I can say that truly since my life did not begin until I met this beauteous creature, and yet I cannot find it within myself to repeat them.

"I know" it is all I can say for words have finally failed me. Instead my mouth speaks for me in other ways, and we again unite our passions until gasping for breath we are forced to separate, yet still we cleave to the other and I find my arms holding her as tightly as she holds me, the urgency of our bond fed by more than love, it is a desire to become one with the other, to unite our souls through force by necessity.

When finally I look again upon her sweetly upturned face, and I see the liquid pooling within her azure eyes, the words come to me unbidden this time, "I love you too."

We kiss again, deeply, passionately, but the urgency has passed and we luxuriate in the feeling of our lips upon one another, and the novelty of this feeling that could be love. I now long to explore these feelings with she who lays within my arms, she who is my protector, my guardian, my angel of death. For I have embraced death and found it's embrace comforting, I have tasted death's honeyed kiss and drank deeply from her lips, I have found death neither cold nor devoid of passion, but alive with possibilities and experiences that I am compelled to explore.

"I love you, my angel." It is all I can say before I am smothered in another kiss.

I will always mourn the passing of my innocence, but I am resigned to my fate as death's familiar. This is not the relationship I had envisioned, the one of innocent fancy where we discover the wonders of each other in a haze of passion, but it is the one before me and it is no less compelling. The feel of her in my arms, her head resting on my shoulder, the warmth of her breath on my neck and the sound of her gentle breathing in my ears, these are the things I crave more than life itself, and if the cost of these treasures was the death of my innocence, then that is a cost I gladly bare.

* * *

_A/N: Well there it is, it ain't much but then I never promised much. Feel free to comment extensively on my shortcomings and don't worry about hurting my feelings. I've got a thick skin and a bottle of twelve year old scotch, nothing you say is really going to bother me._

_A/N Addendum - For those who didn't attend a religious school run by Benedictine monks let me clarify one thing, Abbadon is the fallen angel associated with death, destruction and Sheol (the underworld). That's you fun fact for the day. :D_


End file.
